


Pylades Accepted

by ember_firedrake



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:44:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_firedrake/pseuds/ember_firedrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place in a somewhat alternate version of the movie where Grantaire gets to sing his verse of "Drink With Me," and the emotional aftermath. Assumes knowledge of the characters' fates. (Really I just wanted "last night on earth" fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pylades Accepted

**Author's Note:**

> _Drink with me to days gone by._  
>  Can it be you fear to die?  
> Will the world remember you when you fall?  
> Can it be your death means nothing at all?  
> Is your life just one more lie?

Enjolras was avoiding eye contact with him—had been ever since Grantaire had posed the rhetorical _Can it be your death means nothing at all?_ Until now, there had been the seeming of hope in his friends' eyes. Eponine's death had marked a turning point in their moods, and he saw how even his more optimistic friends began to realize the hopelessness of their venture. It was what had Grantaire taking to his bottle more than normal, but even the buzz of inebriation couldn't quell the ache deep within his chest when Enjolras had gone inside the café.

He'd known for a long time now that Enjolras was willing to throw himself at the altar of Liberty, that to die for the nobility of his cause was the best death he could hope for. And when Enjolras had sat beside him only a day ago and said, "Have you asked of yourselves, what's the price you might pay?"—well, Grantaire had known in that moment the price would likely be Enjolras' life. And that was when he knew his own mind was already made up.

Grantaire grimaced, the wine like vinegar on his palate. He rose to his feet with the slightest waver—the ease of one who has grown used to overcompensating for alcohol—and made his way into the Café Musain. The wine bottle he had left on the barricade, but he had more than enough liquid courage to get him through this encounter. He found Enjolras upstairs, staring at the empty space—mostly cleared of furniture except what had been too unwieldy to throw from the window—where just yesterday they had been melting down metal for bullets. Enjolras turned on hearing Grantaire's ascent, eyes going tight at the corners. Heedless of his own safety, Grantaire approached. 

"Did you mean it?" Enjolras asked.

It took Grantaire a moment to make the connection. When he did, he said, "Every word."

Enjolras gave a grim nod, moving to sit on an overturned crate that had miraculously been spared. "You fear death," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Only a god does not fear death," Grantaire returned. He thought Enjolras would not appreciate the mental comparison to Apollo at this moment.

Right now, his god looked dejected. His head was bowed, curled hair tumbling forward. "I have condemned them all."

"They knew the risk was great—and the cause one worth fighting for," Grantaire said. He hated to see the self-loathing in Enjolras' bearing.

Enjolras looked up suddenly, his gaze arresting Grantaire with its intensity. "And you? Why do you remain?"

Grantaire flinched at the heat in those words. He'd known, the moment he'd been aware Enjolras might die, that he would remain even if ordered away. It wasn't that he thought his presence might change the outcome, or even that he was so naïve as to think he could protect Enjolras. He knew only that if this was to be Enjolras' end, he would have it be his own as well. If he outlived Enjolras, his own world would be the darker for it.

"You must know why," he said gently.

"To mock our cause?" Enjolras grated out. "To make a spectacle of yourself? To—"

Grantaire couldn't bear it; Enjolras had no notion of how deep his words cut. He couldn't blame his reaction on alcohol, having been rendered sober by the seriousness of their conversation. He wasn't sure what spurred him, then, to cut off Enjolras' harsh words with an equally harsh kiss of his own.

Enjolras made a surprised sound in the back of his throat, muffled by Grantaire's lips. He longed to deepen the kiss, but knew he had overstepped his bounds too far this time. He drew back, not attempting to hide the pain on his face. 

"It's you," he said, a low tremor in his voice. "I remain for you."

Enjolras was stunned, his expression unreadable. "Why?"

Grantaire's insides clenched. This was it. He would likely die tomorrow. Would he go without speaking his heart? "Because," he said, "while I may not be able to envision a more perfect world, as you do, your words and your conviction make me believe such a world is possible. And because…I love you, in what way I can. If we are to die, then I would die by your side."

During his confession, he had broken eye contact, unwilling to face the rejection that would inevitably come. He was startled by the touch of fingers on his face—hands free of callouses that were unaccustomed to holding a rifle. Grantaire looked up, to be greeted by the most uncharacteristically tender expression he had ever seen on Enjolras' face. Grantaire was half-crouched from his earlier kiss, so they were not that far apart. Enjolras' hand reached around to caress the back of Grantaire's neck, and then with the slightest of tugs he brought their faces together. 

Enjolras' kiss was much more tentative than Grantaire's had been. It spoke of inexperience and perhaps a small measure of self-doubt, but Grantaire found he didn't mind at all. For him, the slow deliberation with which Enjolras kissed him was more recognition than he had ever hoped to receive. His knees were weak, and he had to lower himself to a kneeling position to avoid collapse. Still, Enjolras didn't break the convergence of their lips.

"Please," Grantaire murmured against his lips. "Please, Enjolras, allow me to do this for you. If we die…please let me give you this one last pleasure before we go."

Enjolras pulled back slightly, meeting Grantaire's gaze with seriousness. He glanced towards the window. "The barricade…"

"…will still be there when we return in short time. Your men will alert you of any danger, and we can hear the approach of soldiers just as well here, upstairs, as they can at the barricade's base."

He was worried Enjolras would refuse, and would resign himself if that were the case. He never imagined he would even have this much. But then Enjolras nodded, and his heart felt lighter than it had in years.

"Yes," Enjolras said, and kissed his lips a final time.

Grantaire would have loved to take his time and draw this out, but they didn't have that luxury. He fumbled with the buttons of Enjolras' trousers, finally succeeding in working them open. Enjolras' desire was evident, and that gave Grantaire no small rush. He was so used to envisioning his leader as the chaste lover of Liberty, anything beyond that was unexpected. That he was the cause of such arousal—he couldn't dwell too long on that thought, or he would lose his nerve.

Grantaire leaned forward, breathing deep. He had wanted this for so long and now he could finally have it—this moment between them. When he finally took Enjolras into his mouth, it was like a new kind of intoxication. His eyes fluttered shut and he relaxed his throat, taking the full length into his mouth. Above him, Enjolras let out soft, breathy moans. His hands moved to card through Grantaire's hair, a gentle reassurance of pressure. Grantaire moaned, humming around the cock in his mouth. His hands gripped Enjolras' hips, his own anchor.

He lost himself to the overwhelming sensations, running his tongue against the vein of the underside, moving his head back before swallowing down again. He could tell how close Enjolras got by the frequency of his panting. His hands clenched in Grantaire's hair, just this side of painful. Grantaire loved it though. His passionate leader vulnerable before him—he longed to have the ferocity of that passion directed his way. 

Grantaire pulled halfway back, tugging at Enjolras' hips in encouragement. The unspoken invitation was received, as Enjolras began shallowly thrusting his hips upward in earnest. Grantaire let his mouth go slack, taking it all. His jaw ached, but he wouldn't give this up for the world. When Enjolras pulsed down his throat, Grantaire accepted it as an offering. He pulled back as Enjolras' grip relaxed on his hair, and as he looked up he had to resist the impulse to gasp.

Enjolras' face was fixed in a look of ecstasy. He was like a fallen angel, locks of his golden curls plastered to his forehead. He seemed to become suddenly conscious that Grantaire stared, because he released his indrawn breath, tilting his head down in an expression that was not quite modest. The effect was ruined somewhat by the cock hanging out of his trousers.

"Grantaire…" Enjolras murmured.

Grantaire liked the way his name sounded on Enjolras' lips, where there was no anger or exasperation behind it. He sighed, nuzzling into the groove of hip before him. Enjolras huffed, bringing one of his hands to trace the side of Grantaire's face, the curve of his bottom lip. If Grantaire wasn't already kneeling his knees would have gone weak at the gesture. 

"Grantaire…come here."

Enjolras tugged at his shoulders, and who was he to deny Enjolras anything? Grantaire shuffled up from the ground, wincing at his sore legs. But then he was steered until he sat on the crate, Enjolras practically in his lap.

Enjolras kissed him again, and this time it had none of the caution, the careful deliberation of before. This kiss was deep and sweeping, and had the fire of rebellion in it. Grantaire kissed back, conscious that Enjolras must taste himself, and then realizing they both enjoyed that. He moaned, his own erection straining the front of his trousers. 

Enjolras reached down, hastily undoing the buttons before shoving layers of cloth away. And then those hands—those beautifully long fingers—were wrapped around him. It didn't take long, a few sinuous movements of Enjolras' hand before Grantaire was gasping, his release spilling over Enjolras' fingers. 

They remained still for a moment, their only movements the languid press of lips and tongue against each other. Grantaire's chest felt tight, a poignant reminder this moment was just that—a moment, fleeting and impermanent. The passage of time and their own mortality could not be ignored. Too soon, Enjolras pulled back, though their foreheads still touched. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket, using it to wipe his hand and clean them off as best he could. He rose, buttoning his trousers and adjusting himself. The marble god once again. 

"We have to get back to the barricade. They will be missing us."

"They will be missing you," Grantaire said as he made himself mostly presentable again. There was no bitterness, only a statement of fact.

A hand touched his face, cradling his jaw. He looked up, caught once again by the tenderness he had never known Enjolras to be capable of. "I would have you by my side, if you will follow me," Enjolras said.

Grantaire clasped his hand, and smiled.


End file.
